


Liquor-Stained

by stagnation



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-10
Updated: 2012-06-10
Packaged: 2017-11-07 11:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/430619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagnation/pseuds/stagnation
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's unusual and sloppy when their pair of boots scuffs across the threshold into Thor's chambers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liquor-Stained

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really write fic. I just punch my feelings out at random. If I don't get it all out when the idea occurs to me, this crap never gets done. So this was the 7AM drabble that just happened earlier.

It's unusual and sloppy when their pair of boots scuffs across the threshold into Thor's chambers, when the shutting of the door immediately invites mouths upon mouths and hands, oh, hands. Thor's bitter like ale and the distinctive cranberry dressing that had adorned the pheasant when his tongue paints across Loki's, and for a moment everything is still. The wet sounds of their lips in tandem.

Thor doesn't ask before his fingers hook around Loki's hips, before they're jutted crudely together. Thor breathes sloppy whorls down Loki's throat. Loki's not quite sure he remembers how.

The thump of heavy leather, linens, falling to the floor are staccato in the room, the undressing hurried and haphazard. Loki peels off his second boot before he's pressed down to the bedding, calluses around wrists when Thor's naked body presses to his trousers, and he feels fire burning in his belly, he feels warm and heavy kisses and hands to match as Thor's hair tickles his shoulders, his sides. The fastenings let go with no undue fuss. Ah, and there's his breath - a careful pant of it into the hollow, high walls of the room. 

Loki's fingers anxiously stroke his lips as Thor strips him of what clothing's left. Hesitance, but for none of the reasons Thor will think, and so he refuses to let it linger.

Sometimes they make love, something shakeable but taut and wordless. Sometimes they fuck, unbidden and animalistic. This night is the latter, with painted scratches down Thor's shoulder blades, with rough and dominant fingers that capture paler wrists that ought to be more delicate than they look. Loki goes white-knuckled and silent when Thor does - that is, fuck him, as he should on this night - braced against the headboard, one knee slung over the slant of his shoulder. Thor's going to leave bruises on his thighs, how he parts them, too wide, but he gasps into the crook of Loki's shoulder and he decides that he doesn't care.

When he comes, it's just as quietly, his climax caught between gritted teeth as he paints lines up his stomach, across Thor's fist, and it's only then, with his fingers splayed against the ornately carved wood above him, that he gasps out, that he clutches a palm tight across his mouth. The sob comes out as a hiccup, a sharp hitch of breath as his hands keep moving, as Thor's thrusts become erratic and cacophonous. Loki's fingers are dissonance, each pad stroking just as wildly across Thor's back, his shoulders, where he can reach until they clutch tight into blonde hair as he feels his brother shudder atop of him, nothing upon his lips but the sound of Loki's name.

Loki laughs, something small and short but unbidden, even as he swipes haphazardly at the wet streaks sluiced down his cheeks. No, no, no. 

When familiar fingers, so careful fingers that shouldn't be careful cup against his face, Loki exhales, turns into the palm and furrows his brows as his eyes snap onto Thor's. A rabbit caught in a trap, perhaps. "Loki," is the small plea, before it's fingers again, two that snag onto Thor's lips, carefully stroking downward and curling inward, at his teeth. Thor's mouth moves, like he might speak betrayal again, and he gets those fingers pressed against his lips, silencing him. Thor's confusion carefully settles, deeper and more ingrained even as his palms stroke down arms, as they grasp both of those cool hands within his own and fiercely kisses the knuckles on either one.

"If I was harsh, it was- not my intention."

"Shut up."

There's a sigh that finally fades out of Loki's chest, and his hands linger there before he pulls free, wipes once more at his face - this time with finality - and fixes Thor with a glower that isn't ill-meaning, even as it's steely, guarded, scrutinizing. Damp fingertips against Thor's cheeks, smoothing across facial hair. "Loki-"

"Thor."

"You're-"

"Frightening you-"

"Worrying me."

Thor's softened inside of him by the time Loki shifts himself up and off, his knees rubbing reassuringly at Thor's sides as fingers knot up into Thor's hair. They grip there, as if to focus Thor's searching gaze, his liquor-stained breaths that keep punctuating the quiet. "You should get some rest, brother. You've a big day tomorrow."

"I couldn't do it without you." Thor pauses, and corrects. "Wouldn't."

Loki sighs again.

"Truly. I'm glad you'll be with me"

"There's hardly a choice in the matter, Thor. Your brother's a prince, and not one about to miss-"

"I'll look to you. Just before I'm named. Loki."

Loki's thumbnails run gentle circles against Thor's skin, the pads of them finally sliding across his lips. His eyes are so very careful when he regards the man above him, unreadable. Unreachable. 

No, you won't.

"Of course you will."

But he doesn't.


End file.
